


Blood Bubble 2: Bug

by Hgrade



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Insecticon, M/M, Medical Procedures, Size Difference, Surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hgrade/pseuds/Hgrade
Summary: He went to the doctor, and the doctor said "you ain't half dead".





	Blood Bubble 2: Bug

**Author's Note:**

> Due to high demand for a proper conclusion to Blood Bubble, I bring you Blood Bubble 2: (bug booty a bloo blo blooo hgrade fuck off with your shitty bug fetish) Swindle fucks Scalpel.

The mech wakes up with a very bad processor-ache. The pain makes his helm feel like it's going to fall apart and expose the protoform beneath. Swindle wonders what could of caused such a thing- but then he moves a leg and that was possibly the worst choice of his 'morning'. It hurts to move anything near his pelvis. He lays back down from the pain and runs a diagnostic. First he's livid from the screaming in his nodes.

Swindle doesn't want to think of why or who, not immediately at least. He wonders if he'd done this to himself through some drunken stupidity. Swindle fails to pull up any logs or memories from the night, only the spatter of old mech juice and oil being his evidence. Of course, the massive transfer of blue and gold paint told him about who was involved. Anger jets through protoform and he drags himself up, clinging to the table and promising that slagger will never forget what Swindle will do to them.

For now though, the merchant clicks on his comm. 

Thrust picks up the line blearily "Yes?"

"I need you to do me a favor and run this line for me, please." the code takes a fraction of a second to go through.

"Aright." he can hear the mech's joints turning faintly as he rises and prods at the console set into the wall.

Swindle's expression darkens, but he's quite happy with the trap he's set.

A cycle or two later, Swindle's gotten the neutralizers on. The pain's gone but there's a strange dryness to everything, and a loss of any taste in his metal mouth. 

He has to trudge up to his desk, cleaving a massive furrow through the piles of parts- things to fix. How humorous that none of them could be of help. The heavy machining parts for the medi-tank aren't delicate enough, even the normal equipment couldn't do the soft internal surgery. Swindle thinks about this while looking over the massive, ten inch wide blade on it.

The screen comes to life, displaying the most recent departures from Kaon. Possibly the only place he'll be able to get help from in this Solar Cycle. There's always traffic jams going to and from the massive colony. Metal digits click quietly across the console as he searches the local cluster for ships. Decepitcon medics are hard to find, neutrals even rarer, a medic with more than a life support system onboard have all but gone extinct. Which makes the tiny pod so suspect to Swindle.

It's small, too small for a full sized bot. There has to be a minicon inside, or this is the alt mode of the Decepticon. He looks over the comm codes and hails it, hoping this isn't one of these completely luck-less episodes. 

The stranger answers, clicking claws over the screen. A wide head, nonstandard bodytype. Swindle realizes in a second that their body was half a finger from an old fabrication machine. "Hello", it slips out, too fast. Too needy and wanting. The bot's tiny claws are delicate, and he can see the seams. Every bit of his processor screams he's hit the jackpot. 

The mandibular "mustache" moves as the insectoid 'con speaks. "You were the one that called me. What are you doing? You look perfectly fine. There's no reason for you to request my services." he taps his tiny claws against a single, delicate leg. How adorably short-tempered, thinks Swindle.

"My good bot, you are very intelligent. I've got a medical issue that can't be handled by my on board equipment." he resists the urge to writhe and display the discomfort he's feeling at the very thought of what happened. "If it's too much to ask, what would you charge for your complete confidence and medical experience?"

 

It's a modified escape pod, it feels like it's more of an office space. Despite any modifications it docks neatly into the bay. The bot skitters in, tilting his head up to observe the high ceilings. Swindle smiles at the "doctor", within a second the tiny decepticon crawls up Swindle's leg, up his thigh, until he's reached the mech's shoulder. "Yess, you aren't a messy creature. So long as we have a clean floor I can fix you right up."

Thanks to Swindle's excellent translation software he's capable of picking out meaning from the terribly small 'con's mouth. "I have a place just for that." he starts to step forward, each step clinking against the metallic floor. They're in the personal med bay shortly, and part of Swindle wonders why he didn't try the unconfigured Zstitch Mach XXVI.

Medical equipment loiters like large corpses. It's a very clean room, the dim lights keep things from being too reflective. Swindle stops at a familiar table and his guest hops onto the medical berth. "Lay down, and I will inspect the damage." the small mech crawls down the side of the table and out of sight.

Swindle's heavy processes bog him down, and he hesitates for a moment. Longing yawns wide as he wants to peer over the edge. The sharper part of him says to just lay down, and he follows that thread. It's cold, as expected. The temperature isn't as discomforting as the soft press of little legs up his arm and over his torso. The tickling sensation trails down to his groin. Swindle urges the protective plate to the side, over his thighs. Soft clicking, the slide as the berth slowly slides to the side, sudden ledge popping out to cage his heels in place. 

A tremble threatens to overcome his frame. The small bot turns to face his patient, tilting his head inquisitively at the terrible parlor overtaking Swindle. "Relax. I'm going to administer the sedative momentarily." the mech twitters and inspects the open panel on Swindle's arm. After a moment the cover on the insectoid's back pops open. Dark connections unfurl, each seeking out the medical ports lining the mech's arm. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, and click. They light up, lagging a microklick apart. One by one the information flows through, diagnostics and a greeting. The tan mech can't help but reply, medical protocols automatically replying with innate trust. They time the lag and then everything becomes synchronized, the pulse from Swindle's spark visualized through the lights.

Scalpel hums as he skitters to the mech's groin. He goes down the list, off with the lower nodes to turn off sensory input from the lower legs. Then the thigh, then pelvis. Lifting his glasses, he teeters on one thigh, peering at the opened interface panel. Through the deep red tint he can see Swindle's servos making a valiant effort at gripping the smooth surface of the berth. "Hold still, I won't hurt you more than you already have yourself." the insecticon thinks of pleasant things, like screams of pain. Servos cracking from the force of their own joints. 

His delicate hands each split into two, then three extra joints pop along the fold-out limbs. The backside of his forearms slides out, pushing and spreading the mech. Lights on and he starts to inspect the bruised and torn internal structure. Mostly scratches, superficial but a handful of deeper nicks are clearly in need of a few stitches. Decepiticon repair structures tended to focus on the more vital organs, but he could tell instantly that this was originally Autobot frame. Tisking, he starts to stitch. Feeding out a line laced with slow-melting energon-infused-weave his needled finger moves like a hot knife through butter.


End file.
